Refractory Period
by LadyLasagna
Summary: Bubba is stuck recuperating with his vampire of a savior in the middle of nowhere.


Gob, his arm. It's _sizzling_.

If he doesn't receive immediate treatment, then the Marshmallum will sear his sugary pink skin clean off. Bubba had known the risks working with such a dangerous chemical. It was why he'd conducted his experiments in an isolated laboratory, rather than the Candy Kingdom itself. But he'd been too cocky, too full of himself, and now, his laboratory is lying in flames behind him.

Twigs snap under his flying feet and his eyes rove between every twisted tree trunk, every thorny bush. Searching for a sign of life. His burned arm swings uselessly at his side, and with the hand of his uninjured one, Bubba squeezes the bicep. It's numb.

Bubba huffs in, huffs out, recalling his medical textbooks. Preserving the rest of his body might call for amputation, and that would require the assistance of another.

A mixture of panic and stoic acceptance rises in him. A brick wall bracing for impact. No one lives out here, in the chilling embrace of Evil Forest. He will die, and the Candy Kingdom will risk a vacuum of power, all because Bubba had been self-indulgent with his passions.

His tired legs finally give, and his knees sink down on a patch of lavender grass in the middle of a clearing. His head spins like the red ribbons of a candy cane, and just when he's about to curl up into a ball and sleep, maybe forever, a voice booms out.

"Who dares disturb my forest?"

Bubba's shoulders tremble. His head whips from side to side and his gaze catches on a tree branch being shaken so violently, its leaves cascade to the ground. His throat is desert dry, incapable of speech.

"You think you can trespass," the voice says, sounding increasingly distraught, "And get away with it?"

Bubba shakes his head, no, but that only makes the disembodied voice growl.

"I'll show you what happens to criminals who intrude on my land."

There's a woosh of air and strands of Bubba's hair tickle his cheek, tantalizingly soft. Goosebumps break out in an epidemic across his skin. There's something closing in. An oppressive, dark presence, whose suspense might kill Bubba before the toxic chemicals do.

He hugs his frail body and chews his lip and squeezes his eyes shut. Waits for the end.

It doesn't come.

"Hey are you alright?"

Bubba's eyelashes flutter the faintest amount, and he sees a floating boy hovering in front of him. He looks slightly put-off, and even more curious. Not at all menacing.

"You-you're not going to kill me?" Bubba whispers, in case this is a dream.

"It was a joke, you wet blanket."

Bubba's eyes open all the way, and he can take the rest of the stranger in: from his messy dark hair, to his lean legs, ripped jeans, and gray t-shirt. His features are pretty–in a young, boyish kind of way–but Bubba can't help label him untrustworthy. Maybe it's the way the edges of his lips quirk. Humor-filled, dangerous.

"That wasn't very funny," Bubba says with the little strength he can muster.

"Says you, powderpuff."

"I don't see you laughing either."

"That's because you closed your eyes and ruined it."

Bubba's retort evaporates off his tongue as fire ignites down his arm. He clutches it with a gasp.

"What's wrong?"

The boy floats closer, but Bubba cringes back. He's not sure what this creature is and whether it's really as harmless as it makes itself out to be. But his arm hurts so bad.

Summoning his most sober expression, Bubba asks, "Do you have shelter? That's all I need. Just-just for a minute or two to patch up."

"You can come on over, my house is nearby."

The boy floats behind him, curving in half to hook his arms under Bubba's armpits. Bubba twists away, frowning.

"I can stand on my own."

So he tries. An undignified whimper slips out instead.

The boy laughs. "I'd bet twenty poprocks your own stubbornness caused your injury." This time, when he hauls Bubba to his feet, Bubba doesn't resist. "Do I win?" he asks, brushing imaginary dirt off the front of the jeans.

Bubba's knees wobble pathetically. "No," he says.

(Yes.)

The boy smiles. There's a threatening edge that makes Bubba's toes tingle.

"I'm Marshall. Do you have name other than powderpuff?"

In the Candy Kingdom, Bubba would reply 'Gumball.' But he can't have this unknown entity realizing the life of the Candy Prince is at his mercy. It would open the doors to ransom, blackmail, or worse; putting all his subjects in danger.

He just says, "Bubba." Only the castle staff know that one.

Marshall nods and he wraps his arm around Bubba's waist. Bubba can feel the lean shape of his muscles underneath, stronger than they ought to be for his size. With this new gravity-defying form of support, Bubba stumbles through the forest, biting his tongue from the pain, and digging himself deeper into this black hole, unsure if he'll ever glimpse beyond the treeline again.

* * *

"Stop!"

"If you'll just let me-"

"No!"

"Why the Mother not?"

"Give it to me," Bubba says, pulling his knees up to his chest protectively. "I want to do it myself. I'm better at it."

Marshall scoffs and throws the bandages and repair gel onto the cushion next to Bubba. Bubba unfolds his legs and gathers them up, feeling victorious.

"You've got some ego issues you need to work out," Marshall says. He sits back against the armrest of his couch, legs criss-cross-applesauce.

"My ego is just the right size," Bubba replies. "I know what I'm capable of and what I'm not."

Afterall, Bubba has studied the best treatments and remedies the Land of Oo has to offer. That's why he knows, as soon as he squeezed the tube over his scarred arm, its contents are not actually repair gel.

"What is this bullstuff?" Bubba asks, eyes darting up to glare at Marshall. "Why is it green?"

"Because it's been enchanted by a witch to make it more powerful. Don't worry, that's what it's supposed to look like."

"I severely doubt that."

"Well maybe you aren't as smart as you like to pretend."

Marshall meets his gaze head-on, smiling, as if this is entertainment to him. It makes Bubba seem childish for overreacting, but that doesn't mean his suspicions have vanished. Learning to control his emotions around Marshall would be advantageous . A necessity in keeping his secrets.

"It's from the nightosphere." Marshall shrugs. "I'm not surprised a light-walking creature like you wouldn't recognize it."

Bubba wishes he had any choice other than to simply go along with whatever Marshall claims. He finishes spreading the gel, and with expert ease, winds the roll of bandages around his forearm.

And all of a sudden Marshall's face is near his, and Bubba is flushed, like hot cherry syrup. Marshall's fingers brush over the pretty bow Bubba has tied the bandages off with.

"Adorable," he murmurs. He looks up and smiles wider at Bubba.

The color on his face must must be so obvious. Bubba grimaces until Marshall leans back again.

"Don't invade my personal space," Bubba says.

"This entire house is my space."

"I mean it." The fight deflates out of him, and Bubba suddenly feels very scared. And tired. Doesn't have the strength to argue anymore. "Please. I'm begging you."

He reaches up to rub his eye while his shoulders slump. And oh, his knees are shaking a little. They do that after late nights of paperwork.

A creak makes Bubba glance up. Marshall has floated up from the couch to pull a bundle from the shelf. When he shakes it straight, a fluffy, rectangular blanket is unveiled. Bubba just stares.

"What's that for?" he asks.

"Lie down," Marshall says.

Usually, Gumball would protest. Usually, Gumball is the one giving other people orders. But usually, Gumball's never this exhausted.

He lays down across the couch cushions, hands pillowed under his cheek and legs curling up like a roly-poly. A fluffy cloud of warmth is draped over him. He rubs his nose into the blankie, breathing in the smell. Coffee and detergent soap. Bubba would much rather prefer something sweet, but there's a comforting aspect to this too.

"Night Bubba," someone murmurs.

The pain in his arm has disappeared, and Bubba drifts off, a leaf released in the wind, swirling along the currents of a dreamless sleep. And just for a little while, the strangeness of his surroundings, anxieties about his injury, and the risks of his caretaker are lost to him. Not gone, but staved off until morning.


End file.
